


Merry Christmas

by sh7



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Hiding in Plain Sight, M/M, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:02:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sh7/pseuds/sh7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His latest tweet has already… broken Twitter, apparently. Just one sentence: Merry Christmas to the love of my life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas

The house is bathed in quiet and nearly completely dark, except for the twinkling lights you've strung up in every room. When it occurs to you to look for him in your room, you spot his deliciously tall frame on your bed, the Christmas lights glowing warmly around him. He's sitting cross-legged on the bed, his head of soft, silky bangs bent downwards as his fingers clatter lightning-fast on his cellphone. You can't see his eyes, but those sweet, sweet dimples tell you that he's up to something.

He looks up as you pad silently into the room, exquisitely aware of your presence behind closed doors as always. When you tear your gaze from his mouth, his hazel eyes are glittering with mischief and self-congratulatory triumph.

"What did you do?" You ask, and he grins like a five-year-old and you grin back around the fierce tenderness that curls and jolts through you as you tumble him onto his back on the blankets.

He raises the phone up and out of your reach and you're going to get to it in a minute, but his hair is so silken soft under your fingers and he's so soft and warm and… _oh,_ your knees are weak now because he's just as happy to see you as you are to see him, and his mouth is all sweetness and spice and eggnog aroma and underneath it all _him,_ and you have to sustain yourself on his taste a little before you can bear to let go.

His long legs fall open, and a few moments later you've honestly forgotten everything that is not his tongue in your mouth and all seven feet of him melting gracefully under your body. His skin is taut silk under your fingers and his soft mewls and puffs of precious breath dot the silence in the house, and you are so drunk on his scent it takes you a few more glorious moments to register that he said something.

"Huh?"

He thrusts the phone at you, a gentle smile playing on his kiss-swollen lips.

His latest tweet has already… broken Twitter, apparently. Just one sentence: _Merry Christmas to the love of my life._

He can obviously sense the sharp stab of bitterness that always accosts you over the façade you both have to keep up, because his graceful fingers nudge your chin. "Hey," he says softly, "look at the image."

Oh. There's an image.

It's not of _her._ It's just a Christmas tree. And something's written on it.

_Ever since the day I met you, I'm complete. You make my life worth living, you make my fights worth fighting, and because of you I believe in soul mates. You and our beautiful kids are the reason I wake up every day. I love you. Forever yours and only yours, forever and ever. Merry Christmas to the love of my life._

There's a hot lump in your throat and a heart soaring out of your chest and a sudden need for glasses, apparently, because your eyes sting like crazy and you can only make out a blurred outline of the beautiful boy laid out underneath you, long hair fanned out around his head like a halo.

"I…" Your voice is wrecked. You don't care about the façade, you know he's yours and you're his and you've promised yourself you don't care about anything else, but this…

"Oh my God, c'mere," he whispers, enfolding your hands (when did they start shaking?) in his before gathering you into his arms.

_Forever yours and only yours._

After a lifetime longing to scream it at the top of your lungs and swallowing it down and gagging on it. After brazen attempts to hide in plain sight always followed by bitter payback, giddiness and bitterness and love and jealousy all churning and rolling in your guts and choking you, longing and longing to pull him into your arms and leave _your_ mark on him and have _your_ ring on his finger, world and career and laws be damned.

_Forever yours and only yours._

And now your gorgeous, precious geeky nerd has gone and done it effortlessly, played everyone in a few minutes. Not even the countless tweets from fans oohing and aahing about him and _her_ can touch the whirlwind of joy gathering in your chest. He looks up at you, heat in his lovely eyes and a little-boy smile on his lips, slick from your tongue.

"Merry Christmas, to the love of my life," he says softly, before you fall onto his mouth to claim it in a sloppy kiss.

You still can't find your voice, but you don't need words to thank your precious, gorgeous boy (the love of your life) tonight. All you need to thank him and love him back is his skin and your mouth and fingers, your bodies together and the desperate love flowing inside your very veins.

So you do.


End file.
